


The Light of the Moons

by WhosInTheAttic



Series: Tempore Persevero [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Culture, Alien Invasion, Alien Planet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhosInTheAttic/pseuds/WhosInTheAttic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the events of Journey's End, the Doctor meets Sara Parker while investigating a wave of disappearances on a university campus in America. After rescuing her from the clutches of danger, the two set out for Fentiern, a three-mooned planet in serious need of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This goes AU after the Waters of Mars; it assumes that there were no prophecies of the Doctor's death, the End of Time never happened, and the Tenth Doctor didn't regenerate.

Sara Parker hunched over her desk, her face twisted into its own brand of determination; she furrowed her brows and bit her lip as her pencil scratched images onto her paper. Professor Hampton had a reputation for being boring, and only three weeks into the new semester, he was certainly living up to it. Sara loved history, but this section of Early Western Civilization was killing her; so she did the only thing she could do—she doodled her way through the tedium, only stopping to jot down the few pieces of information the professor gave that would actually be useful later.  


She leaned forward even more, sliding her right hand across her forehead and into her bangs, pushing her black fedora back on her head. After righting it, she slid her fingers under her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sara eyed her watch desperately. Had she only been sitting here for _thirty minutes_? The thought of being in this stuffy little room for another sixty made her want to throw herself out the room’s single undersized window. Instead, she set to work drawing a scene of stick-people being chased by a dinosaur.

The sound of the classroom door opening pulled her concentration from the little Army tank she was now drawing to defend the panicked stick citizens of the city. _Why do people even bother coming this late?_ She thought with exasperation. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the newcomer, and her mood immediately softened. The man that entered the classroom was tall and handsome, dressed in a chocolate-brown pinstriped suit. She chanced another look as he passed by her to take a seat in the row to her left; he chose the seat next to the one in front of hers, and it groaned in protest as he lowered his thin frame into it. In the process, he caught his right elbow on the bar that connected the desk and chair. He gave a little hiss and vigorously rubbed his fingers over the injury. Sara grimaced in sympathy, and returned to her doodle. She tried not to think of the sensation he was likely feeling; something like electric sand flowing to his fingertips. She opened and closed her hand a couple times, and looked the man over again, this time starting at his feet; he was wearing off-white Converse. _With a suit_. She looked at the black high-top Converse on her own feet and couldn’t help but smile. Everyone was wearing them nowadays, but with a _suit?_ Not so common.  Her eyes trailed up his legs and tried to steal a glance at his backside, to no avail. Her eyes continued, finally making it to his neck. His skin was lightly freckled and smooth. From this angle, she could only see the curve of his cheek and one of a matched pair of sideburns that perfectly framed his face. The sides and back of his hair were neat, but the top was spiky and jutted in all directions. When he’d first entered, she’d gotten a look at his delicate, pointed nose, plump lips, and eyes set beneath eyebrows that lent themselves favorably to the intense look of concentration he’d been wearing.

Sara wanted this man to turn around—to look for the nonexistent clock, to check the doors, anything—she wanted to see his face again. She was already smitten, and felt like a hopeless fool. He had to be in his mid-thirties—making him at least ten years her senior—but she couldn’t help but imagine those lips on hers. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the thought wash over her before pushing it away. She always _did_ have a thing for older men. Sara shifted in her seat and accidentally knocked her pen from her desk. When it hit the floor, a few disinterested glances were momentarily cast in her direction. The pen rolled across the floor and under Pinstripes’ desk. It skittered into his shoe with a dull _plunk_. He looked at his feet and saw it there, turning in either direction to discover where it’d come from, his brown eyes falling to Sara’s meek, embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” she whispered.

He captured the pen under his right shoe as he bent down to collect it, toeing it within reach of his outstretched left hand, and scooped it up in his long fingers. He dusted it off, switching it easily to his right hand; the bottom half of the pen was encircled loosely in his fingers as he held it between his thumb and forefinger, palm upward as he offered it to her. “Thanks,” she smiled shyly as she took the pen, deliberately allowing her fingers to brush over his as she reclaimed it.

“No problem,” he smiled lightly, speaking with an English accent. Her stomach clenched and filled with butterflies; she went back to her doodles, trying not to stare at the Englishman as he crept into her thoughts. She imagined the two of them drinking tea in some posh European bistro, him playfully teasing her for her ignorance of the many varieties of tea and their respective occasions. She forced herself to focus—rather, just _not_ focus _on him_. Sara gripped her pen, and spent the remainder of the class period elaborating on her stick figure drawing.

**

As the class began to disburse, she stuffed her pen into the spiral wire of her notebook and then tucked it into her bag. Sara heaved the backpack over her right shoulder with some difficulty, and expertly maneuvered her left arm into the appropriate strap. She didn’t notice Professor Hampton staring at her as she left, nor did she notice the handsome Englishman following several paces behind her as she navigated the corridor and main stairwell, and exited the hall. It was then that he called out to her.

“Hey!” he called, hustling up to her.

“Hi,” she said with uncertainty.

“I’m John. John Smith.”

“Sara,” she said, offering her left hand for a shake; that wasn’t the way you were _supposed_ to do it, but then again, you were also supposed to stop walking when you shook hands, too. John didn’t seem to mind; without missing a beat, he took her hand and gave it a single light shake.

“Nice to meet you, Sara,” he smiled, and the butterflies started beating their wings again.

“Likewise.”

“So,” he said hesitantly, “I was wondering; would you be willing to let me have a look at your notes from the last couple weeks? I enrolled on the course late, and now I’m playing catch-up.”

“Sure,” she chimed, “I was on my way to the café for lunch; if you want to come with, I can give them to you there.”

“Sounds good; I wouldn’t mind a bite myself.”

**

Minutes later, they were seeking a seat in the crowded campus café; her with a sandwich and tea, and him with a banana and a bottle of water. “I know the _best_ place,” she said, motioning with her head that he should follow. “It’s never as crowded as it is down here.” She scanned the area one more time to confirm what she already knew to be true; there were no open seats here. Her hands were full, but that didn’t stop her from jutting out a pinky and knuckling the elevator’s call button.  The doors immediately slid open, accompanied by an unobtrusive electronic _ding,_ and the pair stepped through them. John was already reaching for the rows of numbered buttons. “It’s the top floor,” she said, and he jabbed the appropriate button with his index finger. To do this, he leaned across her a bit, and it was too close—not for the sake of etiquette, but for Sara’s own personal awkwardness. Her heart quickened and the rabble of butterflies in her stomach redoubled their escape efforts. She could smell him in the enclosed space; a pleasant comfortable scent she couldn’t identify, and the moment he withdrew it was gone.

The doors opened when they’d reached the tenth floor, Sara made a beeline for a table by one of the many large windows that surrounded the perimeter. She plopped her backpack on the floor just under the table and set her meal on the faux wood-grain tabletop.

“Have you been in town long?” she asked John.

“No, not long at all,” he smiled. Sara reciprocated, and then pointed out the window.

“You see that tower?” she indicated the large brick spire jutting well above the city’s other features, “It’s at the center of a working mental hospital. The city’s historical society spent a bunch of money refurbishing it a few years ago.” She pointed in another direction, “ _That_ ugly thing is our architecture-award-winning hideous hotel; fine on its own, but with our downtown? _No_. It just looks like The Jetsons threw up.”

He laughed. “You really _do_ love it up here, don’t you?”

“I can see the whole city. What’s not to love?” she said, turning to take in the view again, missing the impressed look he cast in her direction. Sara jumped as if someone had poked her in the side. “Oh, the notes!” she exclaimed, going to her backpack and retrieving her notebook. She flipped to the proper place and tore out several pages, handing them over.

“Thank you,” John said, glancing at the first page before folding them in half and tucking them into his breast pocket. The two took their seats on opposite sides of the dining table.

“So do you live here now, or are you just here on exchange?” She took a bite of her sandwich and fixed her eyes on him. His eyes were a few shades lighter than his suit and they shone in the daylight.

“Yup,” he said cagily, “thought I’d come to the other side of the pond for a semester and see how America likes me.” He’d been peeling his banana as he spoke, and when he finished the sentence, he took a bite. While he was chewing, he asked, “So what do you think of Professor Hampton?”

“He’s gotta be the most boring man _ever_. I’m only in his section because there was no other choice; no other courses worked with my schedule.”

“Is it just me, or is he a bit weird?”  
  
“Well, he paces like a prison guard. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he used to teach public school,” she laughed, taking another bite of her sandwich. She chewed, blinking, “Oh!” she said, opting to finish the bite before continuing, “He also drinks these really nasty-looking protein shakes.”

“Protein shakes? That’s weird?” He feigned ignorance.

“Normally, no; but the kind he drinks look like the nasty concoctions my friend and I used to make when we were kids, playing Mad Scientist or pretending we were chefs. It looks like he just dumps whatever was in the cupboard in it.” She gave a little shudder, “It’s all sludgy with black flecks.”

The Doctor had certainly chosen the right student to talk to (although as soon as he’d handed Sara her pen, he knew there was no other choice); her description matched that of the Gevloid plasma stabilization fluid, confirming his earlier suspicions. This _Professor Hampton_ —or so he called himself—was definitely the alien he’d been searching for, and he allowed a smile to play across his face. Sara looked at her hands, then out the window. She was peculiar; brown hair, petite, and—other than the fedora perched atop her head—her appearance was non-descript. The perfect target for the alien Hampton; no wonder he’d been staring at her.

“John?” she said. He didn’t even flinch. “John?” Again, nothing. She said his name a third time, this time touching his arm lightly. She had no way of knowing that he wasn’t used to responding to the name Smith; it had been a stretch since he’d last used that alias.

“Why are you so interested in some moldy old professor?” she smiled, “He has the worst student ratings in the department.” The Doctor’s mouth turned up at one corner.

“Can you keep a secret?” His eyebrows stretched to an incredible height as he leaned over the table toward her, supporting himself on his elbows and pressing the pads of his fingers to one another briefly before letting them come to rest on the table.

“Of course,” she said, mirroring him.

“He’s an alien, and I’m going to capture him.”

She laughed; she really didn’t know how to respond to that. “Then sell him to the tabloids?”

“Of course not!  Don’t be ridiculous.” He straightened his back, “I’m going to take him back to his home planet to stand trial,” his expression and tone both saying w _hat else would I do?_

Sara laughed again. Was he serious and crazy? Or just messing with her? Some people had that kind of composure when they were pulling someone’s leg. She decided she wouldn’t be had.

“Well then,” she replied seriously, “What did he do?”

“He irradiated an environmental reserve planet so he could sell chunks of it as fuel; pretty standard scheme. A half million species were wiped out.”

“Wow. I can see why you’d want to catch him then,” she smiled again, “Anything I can do to help?” She was willing to take this as far as he was.

“Actually, yes, there is,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a business card and began to hand it to her. Before she could take it, he said, “I know you think I’m putting you on, or that I’m mad,” he looked her in the eye, “but I’m not. He’s dangerous. And he’ll be asking you to his office soon; when he does,” he warned, relinquishing the card to her, “Don’t go. _Stall_. Call me on this number.”

She looked at the card. It had only four lines of text. The first said, _John Smith;_ the second, _Doctor,_ and the last two lines were an American phone number and (what she assumed was) an English telephone number, respectively.

“You’re a doctor?” she said, surprised.

“I’m _the_ Doctor,” he replied, “and I’d better be going.”

She was a little disappointed. “Well, I’ll see you on Thursday, then, Doctor John Smith,” she said as he rose to his feet.

“Please, just call me Doctor; _the_ Doctor.” He smiled that beaming smile again. “Everyone does.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned gracefully on his foot and moved to the elevator. She looked again at his card in her hand, wrinkling her brows in thought. When she looked up again, he was gone.

 _Most interesting way to give a girl your phone number_ , she thought, grinning. She took out her cell and programmed the number into it, saving it under, “Doctor.”

Meeting the eccentric Doctor was by far the highlight of her day, the rest of which blew by uneventfully, swallowed up by daydreams and attention half-given.

**

It was the following Thursday, and Sara was settling into her desk in Professor Hampton’s classroom. She was disappointed when she didn’t see John—the Doctor—in class. She held out hope that he’d show up late again, and was surprisingly deflated when he didn’t. Near the end of the class period, Professor Hampton was giving instructions for the essay he had just assigned. “…and I need to see,” he looked at his class roster, “…Miss Sara Parker in my office after class.” He looked at her over his bifocals; she nodded in acknowledgement and then looked down at her notebook to hide the wide-eyed look that had appeared on her face. “ _When he asks you to his office, don’t go,”_ she heard John’s voice in her head, _“Call me on this number,”_ his face had been serious and intense. She suddenly felt foolish for letting herself be put on in such a way.

Class was dismissed, and Sara hustled out the door. She thought quickly of what to do, then slipped into the women’s room and took her cell phone from her pocket. She chose ‘Doctor’ from her contacts list, and thumbed the SEND button. It rang several times as she rehearsed what she’d say. The voicemail kicked on and the automated default message concluded with a beep.

“Hello, Joh—Doctor,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m supposed to be stopping by Hampton’s office shortly, then I’m going to the café to go over my notes from today’s lecture. If you’re on campus, you should stop by.” She cringed to herself, “This is Sara, by the way.” She hung up, cursing herself. Could she _just once_ leave a decent message? At least she’d managed to walk the line between dismissive and taken in. She made her way slowly to the professor’s office. She was nervous, both for the normal reasons—Was she failing? Did he think she had cheated on the last test?—and the abnormal— _“...he’s dangerous.”—_ the words echoed in her head. She took a seat in the hall outside Hampton’s office, looking at her fingers, fiddling with her phone (hoping for a response from the handsome Englishman who called himself the Doctor), then glanced down the hall. She saw Professor Hampton shuffling awkwardly down the hall, halfway along the corridor. Something about his awkward gait and sweaty brow made her uneasy; her heart started pounding.  As he closed the distance between them, he spoke.

“Miss Parker, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, please do come in; have a seat.” As she looked up at him, a shape in the distance caught her attention. She saw a familiar man at the end of the corridor; the Doctor. His face was still but his eyes carried a sense of urgency. She rose to her feet and took a seat in the professor’s office, sitting her backpack on the chair next to the one she was now lowering herself into. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, so she retrieved it. _He’s going to make a move. Don’t panic; I’m just outside._ She stuffed it back into her pocket quickly as the professor looked on impatiently. “I’m concerned,” Hampton said, “that you aren’t applying yourself. Your marks on the first exam could’ve been much better.”

“Of course.” Sara was taken aback.

“How do you plan to address this?”

“Take better notes?” she offered weakly. He was going through an awful lot to make her feel bad about an 86%.

“That won’t do,” he said ominously. “You don’t seem to be using your brain _at all_ ,” he grinned. Suddenly, pain shot through her whole body. It was like when her foot would fall asleep; all pins and needles. It was horrendous, and she meant to gasp, but discovered she couldn’t move. “I think it would be better to put your brain to other uses,” he said, rising to his feet. Hampton held a small device in one hand that resembled a fountain pen. In the other, he held what looked like an empty IV pouch with a large metallic hose coming out of it.

Sara was terrified. _Oh my god, he really_ is _an alien!_ Tears started streaming down her cheeks. She could feel a lump of terror growing in her throat, perhaps the only thing that kept her pounding heart from surging its way up and out. “Oh, there’s no need for tears,” he grinned. “This will be over soon,” he raised the metallic tube, and a hollow blade sprung out, “I just jam this into the base of your skull, drain out all the healthy goodness, and then use _this_ ,” he indicated the fountain pen device, “to incinerate your corpse.” She wanted so badly to move, to kick, to scream, but the tingling waves held her in place. Hampton crept up on her, and came to stand beside her, just in front of the door. He brushed her hair out of the way and tipped her head forward slightly, exposing the back of her neck. It was then that she heard a small hum coming from the hall, just outside. She heard the door’s lock turn over, allowing the door the freedom to swing open on its hinges.

The Doctor stood there, holding a strange device of his own. Hampton had been knocked backward by the swinging door, and cursing, landed in a heap on the other side of the tiny office. The Doctor quickly waved his device over Sara, then stooped to inspect the underside of the chair. Hampton was struggling clumsily to his feet. The Doctor seemed to point the device at something she couldn’t see, and after several seconds, she felt the tingling dissipate and her ability to move was restored. As soon as the Doctor saw this, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up. In a swift motion he stepped forward, guiding her behind him and out of the room as he stepped forward to keep himself between her and Hampton, who was now on his feet again. “Gevloid Delta Six Two, you have violated Article Thirty-Seven of the Shadow Proclamation and I am taking you into custody.”

Hampton laughed, and spoke in a language Sara couldn’t understand. The Doctor seemed to have no trouble, and continued, “Oh, don’t give me that line, Delta Six Two,” he spat. “Even if you _were_ innocent of the charges, I’ve just caught you using illegal off-world technology against this human,” he indicated her with a tip of his head, “And seeing as seven students have already gone missing this month, I venture a guess that she isn’t the first.”

Hampton’s whole body began to shudder. His features began to melt and split; he was preparing to attack, and wouldn’t be encumbered by his disguise. The Doctor backed out of the room, knocking into Sara and nearly sending them both tumbling to the floor as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out a baseball and hurled it into the office before slamming the door shut. She heard the ball thud into the metal of Hampton’s desk. After several seconds, she heard a strange sound, followed by the groans of the Gevloid Hampton, and then another sound. Then silence.

“What did you _do_?” she asked. Her eyes were wide; he really hadn’t been joking. There was an alien in there—a _real alien._ And it had tried to eat her brain. A chill swept over her; she was stunned. She plopped down in the chair behind her. Lucky it was there, or she would have ended up on the floor.

“I captured him,” he beamed, opening the door.

“Wait!” Sara meant to call out, but before she could warn him off she could see around him and into the room; it was empty. He stooped to look beneath the desk, and when he’d pinpointed the location of the baseball and bent further to retrieve it, Sara admired his backside; it was _definitely_ worth admiration. She bit her lip and looked away in time to avoid being caught. _Almost killed by an alien, and I’m checking out his ass,_ she admonished herself, holding back a smile.

“Here we are, then.” he grinned, getting to his feet. He held it up triumphantly for her to see.

“A baseball? You captured him with a baseball?”

“Well, it’s not _really_ a baseball, it only _looks_ like one,” he smiled and tossed it to her. “Durable and perfectly safe,” he said as she caught it and turned it over in her hand. “It’s a prison.” She ran her thumb over the red stitching, squeezing the ball and feeling the leather against her palm. She held it up to her nose and sniffed.

“Doesn’t smell quite right,” she said.

“Aren’t we a critic?” he said, mildly offended, and gestured for it back.

“Sorry. So did you shrink him or something?”

“No, didn’t have to resort to that; the prison is plenty big—no use for miniaturization technology.”

“So you throw it like a grenade, and it opens up and grabs the bad guy— _alien_ ,” she corrected herself, “like a bear trap?”

The Doctor beamed. “Oh yes; the target and all alien technology as well.” That was when Sara noticed that there was now only one chair in the office.

“That’s so cool!” She grinned, “So do you work for the British government or something?”

“Or something,” he said coyly. He straightened his tie and brushed off his blazer.

“Free agent then,” she smiled.

“You _are_ an inquisitive one, aren’t you? And clever, too.” All she could do was shrug. She could feel herself blushing a bit. She never knew how to respond to compliments. The Doctor could see that Sara was giddy with adrenaline, and he was perfectly content to have a chat.

“Come along,” he said, turning away and starting down the hall. Sara quick-stepped to keep up, but then cursed and darted back into the office before emerging a second time, once again burdened by the weight of her backpack. She hurried to rejoin the Doctor.

“Sorry about that, but I couldn’t leave this behind,” she said, nodding over her shoulder. He gave her a little nod and they walked in silence out of the building. Once out in the fresh air, Sara took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said, touching his forearm.

“For what?”

“Warning me. For not letting him suck out my brain.”

“If I’d been on time, he wouldn’t have had the chance to try.”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect, can we?” she joked. It seemed to her that he wasn’t very good at accepting compliments, either. “Besides, what’s a little pants-shitting terror between friends?” She cast a wide grin in his direction.

“Friends?” he asked, smiling.

“Friends,” she said again.

“Friends,” he said, confirming the word, trying on the idea like a new pinstriped suit. He must have liked the way it fit, because the next thing he said was, “Would you like to come with me? Take a little trip?”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

She laughed again. Her overexcitement was lowering her inhibitions. “Wait until my mom hears that one!” She held her hand up to her ear and spoke into her thumb, “Hey mom, I’m gonna be a little late for dinner; James Bond just offered to take me on a trip,” she laughed, “so I’m off to England for some tea; don’t wait up!” She dropped her hand to her side.

“James Bond? You think?” he pulled at his tie and flashed a charming smile, which he then replaced with feigned offense, “Oi, I’m not a _spy_.”

“That’s _exactly_ what a spy would _say_ ,” she teased.

“Really though, I’m not,” he smiled. “I can show you,” his smile turned into that of a mischievous schoolboy.

“Okay then,” she challenged, “Prove it.”

“Follow me,” he said. She tried to ignore her mother’s voice in the back of her head telling her how unwise it was to go off with a stranger like this.

**

He led the way to the university parking garage which stood on the west-central end of campus. They took the elevator to the top floor, and as they stepped out, he said, “I’m really more of a consultant.” They walked across the asphalt, and that’s when Sara saw it; above the double doors, hung a sign that read POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX; its aged wood was painted blue. Sara smiled at it; she knew it was more than what it appeared to be, but her thoughts weren’t really connecting what it could be. In fact, she had to resist the very strong urge to ignore it altogether.

“Hmph,” Sara made an unintelligible sound, and wrinkled her eyebrows.

“Perception filter,” he smiled. They were closing in on it quickly. “Keeps the riffraff away.” The Doctor stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small silver key.

“From a police call box.”

“Yep,” he slid the key into the lock. “It’s called a TARDIS,” he turned the key, and opened the door just enough to step inside.

“Tardis?” She followed, and the moment her eyes fell upon the inside, she gasped.

“Yes. T-A-R-D-I-S. Time And Relative Dimension In Space.”

Sara’s eyes were wide. The room in which she now stood had to be at least thirty feet across, with high ceilings, lots of lights, and in the center of it all there stood a huge column of clear tubing surrounded by buttons, knobs and levers. “It’s like the baseball-prison,” she said, stunned. “It’s—it’s…”

The Doctor braced himself. _Say it,_ he thought; he so enjoyed when a guest said those words. He watched Sara gape at the TARDIS’ control room in awe, gleeful at the sight of the way all this _new,_ all of this _different_ made her eyes shine. She followed him up the catwalk and started walking slowly around the room, “…it’s—oh wow!—How do you expand the space in here? This is incredible! It’s,” she turned to face him, a broad grin across her face, “It’s bigger on the inside!” Now The Doctor was wearing a grin of his own. “You are _definitely not_ a spy,” she said in a level voice. “Which means you’re…” she made an upward corkscrew gesture with her index finger.

“…an alien,” he finished for her, “and this is my ship,” he spread his arms wide, indicating the whole room, “Isn’t she great? I really _can_ fly her anywhere; you can come along—if you’d like.” He started speaking more and more quickly. “You know; sort of an apology for the whole ‘Gevloid-almost-extracting-and-devouring-your-living-consciousness’ thing. Passing slowly through madness while time seems to stand still as you slide into oblivion is no fun at all, but you know what is? Traveling! Though space! _And time!_ ” His voice returned to a more normal (though still hurried) pace. “Where would you like to go?”

Sara was dumbfounded. “Anywhere. Everywhere,” she repeated his earlier words, awestruck as she allowed their definitions to expand in her mind. The Doctor studied her expression as the thoughts raced behind her eyes. Suddenly, she snapped her gaze to his, “I know,” she said, “Is there somewhere with a purple sky? Or lots of moons?” She looked at him like he might hand her a Christmas present—and boy, was he, “I know a planet with both,” he grinned, masking a knowing look.

“Then let’s go!” She bounced up and down on her feet a little.

Sara was smiling from ear to ear, watching as he set to work manning the controls. He dashed around the circular console frantically, and the whole ship—TARDIS—shuddered side to side like a wave-rocked boat. “So how wrong are they? Us. Humans, I mean?” She spoke over the din of the instruments.

“Who? About what?”

“Time and space. Einstein? Hawking?”

“You’re right where you should be,” he said coyly, turning back to the console. She should have expected as much. The Doctor flipped a lever and the rocking stopped. “We’re on course,” he said. “Sara,” he began, “you sure are taking all of this in stride.”

“Knowing I was right all along is kinda cushioning the blow,” she said, plopping down on the jump seat, doing her best to project a cool-as-a-cucumber attitude. On the inside she was reeling, and tried to hold herself steady by crossing her arms and legs. She gripped her ribs.

“Oh?”

“I always _knew_ there were aliens. The universe is too big for there not to be.”

“You’ve seen it with your own eyes now. And it doesn’t scare you?”

“It does, but…” she trailed off, “it does _a lot_ ,” she admitted, “but it makes me happy.”

“The knowledge, or the fear?”

“The possibilities,” she smiled, uncrossing her limbs. The Doctor gave a small smile as the ship made a deep thrumming sound.

“Here we are,” he announced, “a lovely afternoon on Fentiern, the planet whose nights are its days and its days are its nights!” He dashed down a corridor, and she heard him rustling around. She heard something fall, then a door closing. He bolted out, “Ah-ha! I’ve found them,” he said, returning with two small devices. “These aren’t comfortable to activate,” he told her putting one in her hand, “but it sure beats wearing a seven-stone bodysuit.” He held it up for her to see, “It works like a re-breather, like the deep-sea divers use on Earth, only it’s much more advanced; once these are activated, they will last for fourteen days.” The device was shaped like a figure-eight. He showed her the back of the device; there was a single hole in the center of each bulbous end. “The microtubules convert the ambient atmosphere into air breathable by the wearer of the unit.” He pressed his device to his throat, and winced. “Only bad thing is that the tubules have to create an artificial airway from the trachea to the receiver.”

“A tracheotomy.” Sara hated needles, but this was no time to be picky. More importantly, she wanted to impress him. She eyed the Doctor’s device, and positioned hers similarly against her own throat. She took a deep breath, and gave it a push. She winced and her eyes welled up, but in an instant the pain was gone.

“Each unit has a built in chemical array for eliminating pain and minimizing the risk of infection.”

“Neat,” she said, clearing her throat.

“Oh, you should _see_ the manual; it has a comprehensive list of compatible species and corresponding unit life. Thousands of species for this model _alone_! And I didn’t even buy any of the after-market add-ons.” She smirked as he bobbed his head, clearly proud of his fancy, space-aged toy. Sara grinned. _Some things really are universal,_ she thought.

Sara took another deep breath, this time feeling quite natural. She redirected her mirthful look at the Doctor, and he smiled back at her. “Allons-y!” he cried, flinging open the doors.


	2. Chapter 2

Sara stepped into the doorway and gazed out at the Fentiernian landscape. They were in the middle of a large park; only a few handfuls of tourists—breathing units giving them away—milled around admiring the foliage. She strode from the TARDIS and took her first few steps on the alien planet. The air was thick and heavy; Sara had only experienced this sensation on Earth on the most humid days, but this air was crisp and dry. The grass was lush and springy beneath her feet, and the trees were an absolutely bizarre shade of green—possibly with blue mixed in—and stood in clusters of fifteen to thirty. They were short with large sprawling canopies of huge leaves. At home, Sara had once seen a leaf bigger than her head. These leaves had to be five times that at the _smallest._ That awestruck smile was plastered across her face once more (had it ever gone?), and when she looked up, it grew impossibly wider.

“The Fentiernian sun is bigger than the Earth’s, but is much further away,” the Doctor said, extending his arm upward, pointing north, as if she could possibly miss the dime-sized circle that hung in the sky. The _purple_ sky. Her eyes were fixed on it, and the Doctor fixed his on her, “Which wouldn’t be a problem—by Earth standards, of course—if the Fentiernian atmosphere weren’t so thick– “

“This is beautiful,” she said, unintentionally cutting him off. The Doctor saw that her eyes were shimmering with would-be tears, and opted not to finish. He didn’t want to clutter her moment with factoids about the evolutionary processes of the plant life of Fentiern, and how they’d evolved to depend on the reflected light of all three of the planet’s moons in order to thrive.

“Yes, it really is. Perpetual twilight the whole day,” he said instead, nodding. He looked again to the sky and appreciated the scene a bit more than he had moments before. They stood side by side in silence, admiring the faint speckles of the stars, “If you think _this_ is beautiful, wait until the moons come up.”

“How many?”

“Three,” he said, “and tonight—today—is the first time in 625 years that they will all be full, in the sky together.”

“They’re gonna have parties!” she said excitedly, “and we should find one.” She looked at him and smiled.

“That’s the spirit!” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, “but first, let’s get some chips. I’m hungry.”

“Me too!” she chimed, but then paused and wrinkled her brows, stepping back to look at him, “but…is the food safe to eat? I mean, it’s not like going to Mexico and you get—“

“—no, the food is brilliant,” he cut in, waving his hands in front of him, “You’ll be fine. We both will,” he said, turning his attention back to the TARDIS. He made sure the doors were closed and locked. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Sara had wandered over to one of the Gaffel trees. As she lightly touched and inspected the meter-wide leaf, he pulled a black leather billfold from his breast pocket, flipped it open, and read the words that flickered on his psychic paper: _It happens tonight; the plague will claim us all._ He flipped it closed, exchanged it for his glasses, slid them onto his nose, and turned in Sara’s direction.

The Doctor approached her after securing the TARDIS, and as he walked up, she hid behind the enormous leaf of the alien tree. She peeked over it at him and giggled, amused that she could hide nearly all of herself behind it. “You might not want to do that,” he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses, “these trees are sentient, and this one might not take kindly to strangers,” he jerked his head in the direction of the tree trunk, and then jutted his chin out slightly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Sara let go of the leaf like it had bitten her, and took a step back.

“Sorry,” she said in the direction of the tree trunk, feeling a bit silly doing so, until the leaves gave a slight shudder. She stepped out from under the tree and addressed the Doctor, “I didn’t know you needed glasses,” she said. Her frames were nearly identical, and this topic of conversation reminded her that her lenses needed a cleaning. She slid them off and breathed on the left lens, using the hem of her t-shirt to clean it.

“Oh, I don’t need them; I just think they make me look clever. What do you think?” He struck a thoughtful pose. She cleaned the right lens of her glasses, slid them on, and then looked him over.

“They do, actually,” she smiled. _They make you look gorgeous,_ she thought. The Doctor also smiled—he seemed to be doing a lot of that around Sara—and they headed toward the edge of the park. Sara was walking just ahead of him, and he watched the back of her head silently as it turned in all directions. The guilt he was feeling created a pit in his stomach. He shouldn’t have brought her here, but she asked for a purple sky. _And_ moons. It was a perfect coincidence. (In fact, it was too perfect to be a coincidence). This place had both, even if it did have an individual anonymously transmitting foreboding prophecy. He could show Sara a great time, get to the bottom of this cryptic message, and have her back in time for dinner. He could have her home the very minute after they’d left

“Doctor,” Sara said, turning back to see an intense look on the face of a man in deep thought. He realized he was being addressed and snapped his attention to her.

“Hmm?”

“When are we?” She asked. He took a deep breath in through his nose, sniffing the air, and exhaled slowly.

“Around 1200 C.E.”

“Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away...” she giggled, eyeing the city’s skyline. The average building made the Burj Khalifa look puny. She continued to crane her neck to look at them until she couldn’t bear it anymore. By the time she leveled her gaze again, they were approaching the door of a place that smelled unlike anything she’d ever known; it was, well— _alien_ —and very pleasant.

Moments later, they each took a seat on opposite sides of a small, square dining table. Sara was stunned at how much the restaurant looked like a 1950’s throwback diners from back home. She opened the menu, and studied it. Even though everything appeared in English, the words were, well—foreign. She furrowed her brows behind the menu and tried to make sense of the strange spices and ingredients through context, but it was futile. _What the hell does ‘filsapholious’ taste like?_ she wondered. “What do you think I should get?” she asked the Doctor.

When the server (a purple-skinned creature with stunning yellow eyes) took their order, she stumbled over the pronunciation of the Doctor’s suggestion, and then chose a drink at random from the back of the menu.

Unfortunately, Sara found out after receiving the meal the Doctor had recommended that the food—and she hesitated to call it that—looked positively revolting. The Doctor caught her wrinkling her nose. “Oh, just try it!” he teased. “What’s the worst that could happen? Get a little bad taste in your mouth?”

She made a face at him, and picked up a two-pronged fork. She pushed the lumpy grayish-purple meat (was it meat?) around in the bright orange sauce. There were suspicious pieces of what Sara _hoped_ were vegetables spread over the whole dish.

“I’m game,” she said, and worked up a mask of enthusiasm. She jabbed a grayish lump with the fork, and pushed it into the sauce. She brought it to her face, choosing to look at the Doctor instead of the food. As soon as the morsel slid past her lips, her eyes grew wide. “Oh. My. God. This is incredible!” She gasped. The meat was tender and rich in flavor, and the sauce was sweet. “Do you want a bite?”

“Sure, why not?” He picked up his own fork, speared a piece, and stuck it into his mouth. “Well, this isn’t what I thought it was.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you _mean_ you _don’t know?!”_

“The dish I ordered for you—or at least what I thought I ordered for you—was something else entirely. What you’re eating is a bit more…exotic.” He said coyly, taking a second look at the menu. She swallowed the bite she’d been working on, and put down her fork.

“What exactly is it you’ve got me eating then?”

“The meat is from the Machreein bush,” he said _mah-kray-ian_ , palatalizing the ‘k’ to make it sound phlegmy, “and the sauce is made from the blood of Gaffel trees.”

“Gaffel blood?” she frowned, “I thought you said they were sentient? Oh, they don’t…” a look of horror crossed her face.

“No, no; they don’t kill the Gaffel, the blood is harvested in the same way as the sap for maple syrup; pop a tap in—no worries.” The Doctor reassured her, and he could see the relief tempering her expression as she took up her fork again.

“That’s good, because I _really_ don’t want to stop eating this.” She was still hungry, and the meal was amazing, even if it was made from plants—plants with meat inside them, apparently—she wasn’t going to let an amazing meal go to waste. “Gordon Ramsey, eat your heart out,” she said at last, “Bourdain would probably give up drinking for a chance to have this,” she motioned at the plate with her fork and resumed eating. She eyed the Doctor carefully; between bites of Machreein meat she spoke, “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began, but thought better of continuing with food in her mouth, and paused to finish. As she chewed, the Doctor looked at her expectantly. _I wish I knew what he was thinking,_ Sara thought to herself, gulping her food.

The Doctor stiffened in his chair a bit, and prepared for the probing questions about where he came from.

_Did he ever go back?_

_No._

_No? Then why doesn’t he?_

_Oh, I can’t go home again because I incinerated the entire planet,_ he thought.

But to his relief, the invasive questions never came. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about yourself,” she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

“Well, what’s to tell?”

“I’ve already figured your name isn’t John Smith; never was. But how old are you? Did you have to get a degree or go to work for your government in order to time travel, or does everyone do it like it’s nothing?”

The Doctor smiled. This line of questioning was much better than some he’d had before. He mentally cringed at the memory of when he’d offered to take Martha to a planet of her choice. She had asked a particularly bad question. _“Can we go to yours?”_ He shrugged away the wave of negative emotions, and forced a smile.

“Well,” he smiled, taking a sip of his beverage, “I’m just over 900 years old—909, actually—and no, I didn’t have to get a degree in order to time travel; a _license_ maybe,” he tugged his ear and glanced away, giving Sara the impression that he didn’t have one of those. She shot him a knowing smirk as he leaned forward, then looked to either side of them, that familiar mischievous smile turning his lips upward knowingly, “As for the TARDIS, I just borrowed her, and off I went to see the stars; no government mandates necessary.”

Sara looked at him, “Borrowed?” she questioned. His tone implied euphemism, and she raised an eyebrow at the feigned look he gave her.

“I’m going to return it,” he said, “Eventually.” It was a lie, even if there were somewhere to return the TARDIS to, he wouldn’t.

“But you didn’t _ask_ to take it.”

“Well, no—“

“And how long have you had the TARDIS now?” She probed, sipping her own drink to suppress a smirk, watching the Doctor fidget with his hands. He gave the back of his neck a rub, thinking.

“Ohhh, about 700 years.”

“You stole it!” she hissed playfully, waggling and index finger at him before stuffing another bite of Machreein meat into her mouth.

“Oi!” he protested.

She put her hands up defensively, “Hey! No judgments here,” she smiled, “not like I never stole anything.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm,” Sara grumbled through her food, swallowed, sipped at the opaque orange beverage in her glass, “Nothing as cool as a _time machine,_ ” she smiled, raising one eyebrow, “just odds and ends. My friends and I once liberated a few handicapped signs,” she was wearing her own mischievous grin now, “and I once shoplifted a pair of panties from a department store.”

“Better keep an eye on you then,” he winked. She smiled and blushed at the gesture. _Why are you mentioning your panties? _she scolded herself. She was drawn to him, and struggled to reconcile her attraction to him with the fact that they were two different species, and he—apparently—was more than 870 years older than her. The part of her that did all of the _noticing_ was fooled by his human appearance, and wouldn’t let the issue lie, regardless of what the rational part of her thought. She watched him take a bite of his meal; something vaguely resembling French Fries. He noticed her eyeing his plate.__

__“Would you like to try a chip?” He motioned_ _

__“Can I?”_ _

__“Of course.” She took one purple wedge from the top of the pile on his plate, careful not to touch the others and carefully took a bite of it. Her eyes went wide. “This is amazing!”_ _

__“Best chips in this star system,” he told her, “fried in Lesthem oil.” She resisted the urge to grab more, and returned to her own meal._ _

__They continued to chat, and the Doctor quite enjoyed it. This girl—woman—was quite different and he found her unpredictable—well, as unpredictable as a human could be from his vantage of space and time—and in the most positive of ways. And he was thankful that she didn’t choose this meal to ask the difficult questions over. He knew it would come up eventually—and likely soon—it always did, and for him, it was like repeatedly picking a scab. But thankfully today would not be the day for that discussion._ _

__The Doctor paid for the meal with something very much like a debit card, and the two exited the restaurant. The small Fentiernian sun was lower in the sky, and the stars were just a bit more prominent. “Next order of business,” The Doctor said, clapping his hands and rubbing them vigorously together. She half expected him to roll up his sleeves. Instead, he reached into the breast pocket of his overcoat and removed the small metallic device he’d used to free her in Hampton’s office._ _

__“What _is_ that?”_ _

__“Sonic screwdriver,” he said, reaching into the pocket again, this time re-emerging with a card identical to the one he’d used inside. He shined the blue light of the sonic screwdriver over the card, the pitch of its hum changed slightly. “There we are,” he smiled, handing it to her. “Spending money. Now, let’s get you to the shops!” he said, slipping the tool back into its proper place, and offering her the crook of his left elbow._ _

__“Let’s!” she said, threading her right arm through it, resting her hand on his forearm. Sara felt much more at ease after the meal, and she walked arm-in-arm with the Doctor through the streets of the alien city like it was natural; as if that were exactly what she’d intended to do when she’d set out that morning. She was still awestruck by every little thing that caught her eye, but the feeling of this alien man—this stranger—on her arm somehow settled her._ _

__“Why is everything in English?”_ _

__“It’s not.”_ _

__“Look right there!” She exclaimed, reading the signage aloud, “Budding Friends’ Emporium,” she said, “English.”_ _

__“That’s the TARDIS’ translator working it out for us; look again.”_ _

__Sara squinted at the sign again, and the familiar words were replaced by shapes and curves completely unintelligible to her._ _

__“How does it _do_ that?”_ _

__“Telepathic link.”_ _

__“Cool.” He was surprised by this nonchalance; Sara didn’t seem at all concerned that the TARDIS was kicking about in her brain._ _

__“Shall we have a look in the little shop then?”_ _

__“Definitely.”_ _

__“Excellent. I love a little shop.” Once inside Budding Friends Emporium, they were both enamored by the trinkets that lined the shelves. “Look! Look at this!” he called over the display shelf giddily._ _

__“Oh Doctor, _these!_ ” She called, pointing at an ill-fitting pair of moonglasses, “ _These_ , I have to have.”_ _

__“I’d better have a pair myself,” he said, coming around to her side of the display to pluck a pair from the rack. “Too much exposure to Fentiernian moonlight can be quite bad for the eyes.”_ _

__After paying, the two left the store, each with moonglasses on their face and a bag of trinkets under one arm. Sara giggled and looked up at the sky. The stars were fading again, and when her eyes fell upon the single full moon peeking from between the sky scrapers, she stopped short, “Doctor!” She pointed. It was huge, still hanging low on the horizon. It was far bigger than Earth’s moon, perhaps ten times the size and tinted orange._ _

__“That would be Estriid,” he said, savoring her joy, “that means Hexaat will be rising within the hour, and Tieramenaat within three.”_ _

__**_ _

__They explored the city, popping in and out of stores and pubs. Sara had insisted on consuming some intoxicants in one of those pubs, and after she’d bellied up to the bar and ordered some exotic-looking green beverage in a tall glass—her second drink—he felt that she was relaxed enough to be left on her own._ _

__“I’m going to the shop ‘round the way. I’ll be right back.”_ _

__“Okay,” she said. Her eyes were foggy with drink, but her smile was genuine. She turned to face the screen that hung behind the bar, and watched what looked like a sport as she sipped her drink._ _

__**_ _

__The Doctor crept into a nearby alley and took out his sonic. He began doing sweeps, looking for evidence of something clandestine. Try as he might, he found no secret shafts, and no errant signals or transmissions. Hexaat was on the rise now; he had to get back to Sara before she wandered off and got herself lost._ _

__When he returned to the pub, he found something very unexpected; Sara was sitting in a booth seat with a Hath and a White Man, laughing and exchanging jokes. _Jokes!_ Some of them he was sure Sara didn’t understand the punch lines to, but she laughed right along with them all the same._ _

__“Glad to see you’re having a good time,” he said as he approached the table. Sara was clutching a purple drink in a wide, stout glass this time, and he couldn’t help but cock and eyebrow when he saw it was nearly gone._ _

__“Doctor! So glad you’re back. Look! I made friends!” she pointed._ _

__“Oh hello!” He said enthusiastically, and the two creatures introduced themselves and gestured for him to join them. “Oh, certainly, thank you.” He said. A server approached and he ordered a banana daiquiri. He turned to Sara, “I’ll just have the one; Tieramenaat is going to be rising in a bit, and we still have to walk back to the park.”_ _

__One daiquiri had turned into three before they’d finally gotten out of the pub and began making their way back to the park. Presently, Sara was fighting to keep the weave in her step to a minimum, failing anytime she let her skyward gaze linger too long._ _

__Her skin was flushed, and when she touched the back of the Doctor’s hand to get his attention, he could feel the added warmth her condition brought to her blood. “Doctor,” she said, “how will we ever see the three moons with all these buildings?” She sounded almost childlike in this state._ _

__“You just wait,” he said, taking her hand gently and leading her back toward the park. The rabble of butterflies started beating their wings in her belly again, and she was silently thankful that her face was already flushed from the drinks. It was another twenty minutes before the park was in sight, and Sara was amazed at how clear her head had become. She still felt inebriated, but not on the same level or with the same sensation that she would have felt on Earth. Was it what she had been drinking? The air she was breathing? She meant to ask the Doctor, but now they were at the boundary of the park._ _

__When they re-entered through the gates, Sara noticed that it had become considerably more crowded. Most of the crowd was facing south, admiring the orange light of Estriid. “Ready?” The Doctor said, pointing at the skyline. She turned just in time to see the entire landscape flicker. The buildings disappeared. Sara gasped. “Cloaking,” he grinned, “the Fentiernians revamped the system especially for today’s event,” but she didn’t gasp because the buildings had vanished, she had gasped because she could now clearly see Hexaat, which shone with the same color as Earth’s moon, and while it was dwarfed by Estriid it would still look like a colossus next to the moon Sara had spent most of her twenty-five years gazing up at in wonder. Tieramenaat was the most impressive of the three, not because of its size (it was the second-largest) but because it shone a pale, phosphorescent blue-green. She gaped and said nothing, and as the light of the three full moons swelled, the purple of the sky only became more brilliant, the stars disappearing from view altogether, and the onlookers bathed in the surreal light._ _

__Sara took the Doctor’s hand in hers and squeezed. She hadn’t the presence of mind to debate the propriety of it, or to feel bashful; she was leaning her shoulder into his, not only to assuage the sudden need to just be _close_ to someone, but also to keep herself from falling over. She couldn’t stop the tears; they rolled down her cheeks as she took in the scene in silence, her mouth hanging slightly open in awe. The Doctor squeezed her hand in return, and they stood that way for several minutes before Sara relinquished his hand and used her palms to dry her face._ _

__“It was worth it,” she said, almost whispering, “Seeing this; it was worth it.”_ _

__“Worth what?”_ _

__“Nearly having my mind consumed alive by an alien,” she said plainly, sniffing. _So she_ had _kept up with me,_ he was hoping she’d missed that bit; he had taken it for granted that his frenetic, rapid speech could be hard to follow at times, but he was occasionally pleasantly surprised by moments like this. He turned to look at her; she wiped her hands on her t-shirt, and took his hand in hers again, finally tearing her eyes away from the sky._ _

__“Thank you,” she said, staring into the Time Lord’s brown eyes. She pulled the words from the depths of herself, and as they left her lips, it was like pulling a well-established weed from a vegetable garden, the tendrils of emotion prickling throughout her as the words came to the surface._ _

__This was not lost on the Doctor, but he only responded with a broad grin and a casual, “Don’t mention it.”_ _

__That was when Sara noticed the Gaffel trees; their massive leaves stood on end, swaying from side to side. Each cluster rocked rhythmically as one, like the members of a crowd at a rock concert all waving their lighters in admiration of a performance. The Gaffel trees were _growing._ They grew right before her eyes._ _

__“Look at that!” By the time the Doctor had turned, the trees had sprung up two feet. Before his eyes, they sprung up another three._ _

__“Ha!” he shouted, smacking his forehead, “How could I forget!?” He snapped to face Sara, “Oh!” and before Sara could ask him what was wrong, his face split into the widest grin she’d seen yet. “The trees aren’t _growing,_ ” he shouted in excitement, grabbing her by the shoulders, “They’re _rising!_ ” His voice picked up in tempo as he released his grip on her and began waving his hands about. “Every 625 years, at the three-fold full moon, the Gaffel trees rise; they mate, choose their new home; the place they’ll spend the next 625 years, and then go to seed.”_ _

__The Gaffels continued to extend, up, up, up into the air, leaves still rocking serenely in the light of the moons. When it seemed they would stretch on forever, she shifted her gaze to the bases of the Gaffel trees nearest to them; each trunk was swelling and splitting into bizarre tentacles. They whipped lazily about, and the cluster began to disburse. Impossibly tall trees shuffled all around the park. One came very near them, flicking its tentacles lightly all around them._ _

__Sara clutched the Doctor’s arm. “It’s alright,” he told her, “it looks like you’ve made a friend.” A tentacle brushed lightly across her form. She felt a warm feeling pass over her._ _

__“It’s the tree from earlier!” she giggled. She could sense it as an individual; feel its memories of their earlier encounter pressing against her own. She raised a hand to the searching tentacle and touched it. “Hello,” she said carefully. Again, she felt the strange sensation of its mind against hers. Was she _really_ having a conversation with a tree?_ _

__“A gift? For what?” she asked it, puzzled. She turned to the Doctor, “It wants to give me a gift,” she said. Before she could ask him whether or not it was wise to accept (after all, what if gift-giving was how they chose a mate?), the whole Gaffel shuddered. “Oh no, you must be mistaken,” she said, flattered. After another moment, her look turned to concern. “Well, if you insist, I gladly accept.” She felt a bit silly sounding so formal, but she thought it right. Was there a _wrong way_ to have a friendly chat with an alien tree? The tree shuddered again, and Sara knew to look up. A single leaf fluttered down from the canopy and enveloped her._ _

__The Doctor heard her laugh and watched the fallen leaf bulge and shift as Sara struggled from beneath it. When she emerged, he expected a gleeful look. Instead, Sara wore a hard look on her face; it wasn’t hateful, but it was stern and very at home in her blue eyes; her jaw was tense, lips pursed, and her nostrils flaring. She returned the gaze to the leaf, and the hard look was gone again, replaced by wonder. It was a look the Doctor much preferred._ _

__She eyed the leaf carefully, realizing it was the very same one she’d held earlier, in the same way she’d realized the Gaffel had been the same; the leaf was different though. It had been changed in the moonlight. It felt like a thick silk, and had a radiant shine to it (she’d realize later it looked nearly identical to the shine of Tieramenaat). The veins on the underside had turned silver, and as she inspected it, they receded into the leaf, leaving the patterned lines of brilliant color behind. What she now held was a leaf—which was no longer a leaf—the size of a king-sized duvet. The tentacle of the Gaffel reached out to her again, brushed her shoulder, and she raised a hand to touch it. “It’s beautiful,” she said to the Gaffel, “thank you.” She looked at the Gaffel tree as it withdrew, feeling its goodbye pressing against her brain. It moved gracefully and at surprising speed out of the park._ _

__Sara whirled to face the Doctor, the hard look back in place. “That tree _knew_ me. Not just from this afternoon. It said the Gaffel have been waiting…for two visitors and a blue box. _Us!”_ She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight heavily to one foot. “You didn’t choose this planet just off the top of your head,” she said flatly, “you already had it in mind.”_ _

__The Doctor fidgeted, running his hand through his hair, squeezing the back of his neck, contorting his face into impossible shapes. “Welllll,” he said, face turned to one side, looking in her direction from the corner of his eye, “I received a distress call; a distress call transmitted from Fentiern by—I _now_ suspect—the Gaffel. Yes,” he said._ _

__“A distress call,” she said sharply, shifting her weight to her other foot, “Meaning danger.” The Gaffel leaf was draped over her arms like an oversized serviette. Her arms tensed and the shopping bag slung over her shoulder crinkled. She looked positively fierce._ _

__“Yes,” he replied, looking her in the eye. What he found there gave away her real concern, and to his sadness, the seed of distrust._ _

__“You asked me to come, _knowing_ it could be dangerous, and you didn’t tell me?” She asked sternly, taking a few steps to close the distance between them. She peered at him over her moonglasses questioningly._ _

__“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” he said, plastering on an uncomfortable smile and mussing the hair on the back of his head. What more could he say?_ _

__Sara slapped him hard and stiffly in the arm. “And when were you planning on telling me, huh? When some creature carted me off?”_ _

__“If you’re so worried about getting hurt, I’ll take you home now, if you’d like. At any rate, we should get back to the TARDIS; we can finish this discussion inside.” He shifted his eyes around to see several members of the crowd had noticed Sara’s little swat—if you could call it little; his arm did ache a bit—and were waiting expectantly for something exciting to happen. The Doctor turned and headed toward the blue box just a short distance away, Sara trailing behind. As he stepped up to the door and brought the key to its lock, Sara came to his side._ _

__“I’m not worried about getting hurt,” she said. “I’m worried about being kept in the dark when it comes to my own safety!”_ _

__“You’re telling me that you don’t care that I’ve put you in harm’s way, just that I didn’t _tell_ you that you’re in harm’s way.”_ _

__“Yeah,” she said, her anger diffusing. The Doctor arched an eyebrow and turned to look at her as he opened the door, and was surprised to see a big grin on her face. It was a bit of a relief, really._ _

__“It’s funny,” she said, looking at his puzzled face, “You call yourself the Doctor, and _I’m_ the one lecturing _you_ on informed consent.”_ _

__“Well then, Sara Parker,” he said stepping inside the TARDIS, “will you help me get to the bottom of this plague? All life forms on Fentiern could be at risk. Ourselves included,” he said, sounding more excited than foreboding, and extended his arm out to her across the threshold._ _

__Sara bit her lip and stood on the springy blue-green grass. She was thinking about the Gaffel tree, and worried about it suffering and dying from some horrible disease. She wondered if she could catch the diseases from this planet, and if she could, how horrible would it be? She glanced at the leaf in her arms, steeled herself—as she always did when she was afraid of what might come next—and put her hand into the Doctor’s. Instantly he beamed and tugged her enthusiastically aboard. His smile made _her_ smile despite herself, and the heavy stone of fear that was now lodged in her gut began to dissolve._ _


	3. The Light of the Moons

The Doctor dashed up the catwalk and immediately set to work manipulating the TARDIS’ controls. Sara walked over to her backpack, which she’d laid near the entrance to one of the corridors. She placed her shopping bag next to it. She carefully folded the Gaffel leaf and placed in on top of her backpack. The entire time, the Doctor used his unstoppable gob to fill her in on the details of Fentiern. He flipped a switch and a three-dimensional hologram appeared.

“This is the Fendel System,” he said as the image zoomed in and shifted, “This is Fentiern,”

“And Estriid, Tieramenaat, and Hexaat,” she said, pointing in turn to the translucent orbs.

“Yes,” he arched an eyebrow at her as she looked at the map, _Excellent pronunciation,_ he thought amusedly to himself. “And the message I received said, ‘It happens tonight, the plague will claim us all.’” He furrowed his brows, “Which is quite concerning considering that there is no record of infectious disease on Fentiern; not in seven million years of records.”

Sara looked at him wide-eyed. “ _Seven million years.”_ She couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around the idea of a place having seven million years of _recorded_ history. She shook her head to clear it. “So what’s changed?”

“That is exactly what I’m hoping to find out.” Dashing to the controls on the far side of the console,   he looked at the monitor. “Oh,” he said.

“What is it, Doctor?”

“You might want to brace yourself.”

Before Sara had time react, she felt the TARDIS shudder beneath her feet. She grabbed the rail of the catwalk to steady herself, but she lost her grip and fell to the floor. “There’s fire in the sky!” She screamed. She clutched her head between her hands, pressing her palms over her ears. “They’re so loud!” She cried. The Doctor rushed to her side. She was lying on the catwalk, turning slowly from side to side, her body twisting in pain. Her face was red from strain. He waved his sonic over her several times, and was stunned to find that Sara was telepathically linked with the Gaffel; she could hear their thoughts. Not just the one she’d encountered, no…these readings were off the charts. Her mind was connected to the collective consciousness of the entire species.

“Sara!” he cried, taking her face between his hands. Her eyes were full of pain and fear. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them from her ears. “Sara, you’ve got to listen to me!  Don’t be afraid. Don’t fight it.”

“What’s happening?” She gasped. The TARDIS was rocked by another explosion.

“The planet is under attack.”

“I mean my head,” she choked, attempting to cover her ears again. The Doctor’s grip on her wrists wouldn’t allow it.

“That won’t help you,” he said, “Because the noise is in your head. You need to focus.”

“It hurts. It feels like—“ she groaned and fought against his restraining hands.

“Like your head is going to explode and your whole body is on fire?” Sara grunted and nodded. The Doctor thought quickly. “Human brains weren’t built for a collective consciousness; you need to concentrate. Concentrate on your memory of the Gaffel from this afternoon.

“I can’t,” she croaked. Another explosion went off somewhere outside, and Sara winced. He frantically searched the room and his eyes lit up when they fell upon the Gaffel leaf.

“Of course you can,” he said letting her go. He jumped over the catwalk rail, and snatched up the massive leaf from her pile of belongings. He ran back to her side and draped the leaf over her. “Think of the Gaffel that gave you this.”

The pain in Sara’s head subsided a little when the leaf made contact with her skin. She pulled it closer to herself, drawing up an edge to her face and breathing in its silken fibers. She closed her eyes, and could see a forest stretching for as far as her eyes could see. She could feel herself reaching out into the vastness, and suddenly she knew where she was going. The pain in her head dissipated. As she drew nearer to her target, the other voices started to fade, and her head grew quieter. Her mind fell upon the familiar Gaffel.

 _My gift will give you strength,_ its will echoing in her mind.

The Doctor watched Sara shut her eyes, and slowly her body became less rigid. Her face was no longer contorted with pain; instead she wore an expression extreme concentration. Suddenly a grin spread across her face, and she opened her eyes. “I found him.” Her voice was unsteady and a bit breathless. She sat up carefully and clutched the leaf to herself again. “I know what to do,” she said dreamily, her gaze seemingly looking through the Doctor. She got to her feet and darted down the hall. Once out of sight, she stripped herself bare and wrapped the Gaffel leaf around her. The silk was exquisite against her flesh, and as she threw it around her shoulders, it began to shrink and change. It tightened around her and molded itself to her, fusing to her skin. _Becoming_ her skin.  Her hands, feet, face and neck were as they’d always been, but the rest of her had become the blue-green of the Gaffel leaf. She was streaked with silver lines, and when the light from the corridor touched her skin, she shimmered.

With the leaf now a part of her, she could make better sense of what was happening in her mind; the Gaffel forests were panicking. They were talking and speculating amongst themselves. There were whispers of the water, the moonlight…she could hear the panicked cries of tourists through the ears of the forest. There was fire in the sky, and she could see images of the flames from thousands of different angles. She redressed herself as quickly as she could; she could hear the Doctor’s footfalls moving hesitantly up the corridor.

“Sara? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her t-shirt back on and stepping forward as he came along the corridor. “More or less,” Sara continued as his eyes fell upon her.

“Oh my,” he said.         

“My head stopped hurting,” she smiled.

“I should think so,” he nodded, reaching out and taking her wrist gently, bringing her arm closer to his face to inspect the patterns. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin; the sensation made her breath waver.  “This leaf is teeming with psychic energy! As long as it is bound to you, it’s locked onto your brain waves, creating a sort of psychic resonance that increases your abilities to communicate and—“

“Aaaand my head hurts again,” she cut in teasingly, grinning. He looked up from the silver tendrils that streaked across her arm for a moment to search Sara’s face and confirm her statement was only a playful jab, before resuming his inspection. She watched as he ran his fingertip along one of the silver veins, beginning at her elbow and trailing it down to her wrist. He was feeling for consistency, she imagined, but all it did was make her heart race. The butterflies returned to her stomach. “Enough of that,” she said, drawing her arm back. “Someone or something is fire-bombing the planet.”

“From orbit,” he added. Moments before the explosions rocked the landscape, he’d seen them on his monitor.

“Then why are we still standing here?”

The Doctor raced to the TARDIS controls and began setting course for the unknown craft in orbit that had fired upon the peaceful planet. As he manipulated the controls, the ship began making a pulsing mechanical sound that she’d heard before. Only it wasn’t exactly the same.

“What _is_ that noise?”

“The sound of the universe,” he grinned, “and here we are.” Sara went to the TARDIS doors and stood on her toes to peer out one of the small windows.

“We’re definitely on a ship,” she said. She inspected what she could see of the corridor. Outside the TARDIS, she could see rubber tubes, colored wires and ductwork running along the ceiling of the nearly-circular corridor. The pale blue lights hung from the apex of the ceiling every three feet or so, pulsing at intervals; the effect made the slick grey walls look as if they were undulating, “A very strange ship.”

 The Doctor opened the door and stuck his head out, craning it in either direction. He sniffed the air and inspected the machinery. He squinted at the walls and cocked an eyebrow. “I know where we are,” he whispered over his shoulder. He slipped his head back inside and closed the door. “We’re on a Hendica ship.” He sprinted up the catwalk, spun on one foot and dashed around to the far side of the console. She followed behind him quickly, and just as she was rounding the controls, he bolted toward her and gripped her shoulders tightly, “A _Hendica_ ship! This is brilliant! Organic matter is grafted by the Hendica onto non-organic foundations, and once it has taken root—once it has started growing on its own—crystal growth is encouraged and accelerated on the exterior.”

“Growing _on its own?_!”

“Yes.”

“This ship is _alive?”_

“Yes.” _So it wasn’t isn’t  the lighting_ , she thought, _the walls really_ are _pulsating._

“And we’re going for a walk out there, aren’t we?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and giving her a crooked smile.

“Can I use your bathroom first?” Sara feigned a little embarrassment.

“Down that hall, last door on the right.” He gestured. She scuttled off without a look back, darting into the hallway. Sara went inside and locked the door behind her. She felt like she was going to throw up. She turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face. As she drew her hands away, she took her first clear look at her arms in the bright light of the bathroom. Her skin was a deep blue-green, and shimmery. Silver veins ran like rivers along her arms and legs. She lifted the hem of her shirt to see the same pattern repeating itself across her stomach; she lifted her shirt more. It was everywhere, and suddenly she was frightened. She scratched it, but it wouldn’t come off. She knew it would eventually; she had gleaned that from her contact with the Gaffel tree. _How long is it going to last? Hours? Days? Years?_ She panicked, _What if I still look like this when he dumps me off back home?_ Had she really just thought that? She pushed away her mind’s choice of words and corrected herself, _Would he really_ take me home _looking like this?”_ Sara was staring at her forearms. _No, no; of course he wouldn’t._ She shook her head, and then leaned over the sink, gripping the sides. She took several deep, calming breaths and thought of home. She imagined her cluttered bedroom in her mother’s house, and her bookshelf full of stories with plots much like her life had been for the last several hours. How long _had_ it been? She mentally chided herself for dawdling when Fentiern was in danger. She stood up, raked her hair into a decent shape and stepped out of the bathroom.

Sara strode down the hall at a determined pace and re-entered the main control room, “Alright! Let’s do this,” she said, clapping her hands together and rubbing them back and forth in the very same way the Doctor had done earlier.

The Doctor stepped out first with Sara close behind, being sure to pull the door shut behind her. She looked all around her and over her head. The walls were pulsing and dripping with mucus. Thankfully the ceilings were not. _The crew probably didn’t like the idea of slime dripping all over_ their _heads either,_ she thought. She was standing inside of a living bagpipe—at least that’s how she imagined it—and that was looking at it humorously. She felt her heart starting to race again, pounding so hard that her lungs burned and her vision blurred. Nausea pooled in her guts, and just as she thought she would retch, the Doctor reached back without looking and took her hand in his, pulling her into the shadows of an adjoining corridor. This time, it wasn’t the usual butterflies she felt bouncing around at his touch; the stone of fear in her gut began to dissolve. Her nausea dissipated as calm washed over her, and she straightened herself as they crept along. He let go of her hand and took out his sonic screwdriver and began taking scans. She looked at the back of his head as he continued forward. Had he felt that? If so, he hadn’t given himself away with as much as a twitch. She’d had a distinct sensation the moment they’d touched—a feeling like electric sand— and it traveled through his palm and into hers, flowing up her arm before washing over her heart, slowing its pace, and then settling into her belly.

When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned left and found a series of small portholes lining one wall. Sara looked through one, and gasped, “Doctor!”

He looked through the glass, “Escape pods,” he said, “Fentiernian emergency protocol: in the event of crisis, all non-residents report to designated ports of departure.”

“They’re just _leaving_?” She looked at the pods, darting in all directions away from the planet like fleas from a dog in a chemical bath. The mixture of disbelief and something a few shades lighter than disgust on her face made the Doctor proud of her.

“Let’s keep moving,” he whispered.

“But—“

“Hendica tactics,” he said distastefully, “fire a few warning shots to scare away the foreigners—“

“The witnesses.”

“Yes—and minimize the scandal of collateral damage, of course. Then they can make their move.”  They were moving along the corridor once more, the Doctor tugging her along.

“Is anyone going to _do_ anything about it? Like space police or space courts; the Shadow whatsit— _someone?”  Space police?_ she thought. She felt like a fool with those words coming out of her mouth. _Galactic council,_ though just as naive would have sounded less childish. The Doctor looked at her, smiling toothily.

“They’ve got better,” he said, “They’ve got us.” He winked and Sara’s face broke into a smile of her own, which quickly dissolved when she saw three large, heavily armed figures round the corner. The Doctor turned away from her just in time to bump into them.

Without missing a beat, he greets them. “Oh hi! You wouldn’t happen to know where the Machreein garden is would you? I seem to have lost my visitor’s map.”

“ _You_ are trespassing,” the figure in the center said. “Your _presence_ is unauthorized.”

“Many apologies,” The Doctor said, “Perhaps you can take us to the captain of this vessel and we’ll get it all sorted and be on our way.”

“Protocol Seven-Dash-Nine-Six-Dash-Alpha states that you are to be confined until the completion of military engagement.”

The other guards then drew their weapons and trained them on Sara and the Doctor. Smoothly putting himself between the guns and Sara, speaking quickly, and raising his hands slowly, the Doctor said, “Very well then; I suppose we can wait until then to get this sorted. No need for guns.” The guards lowered their weapons, and Sara was able to breathe again. Barely. The three towering figures surrounded them and marched them to where they would be ‘ _confined,’_ The Doctor took Sara’s hand. It was a tight grip, their fingers entwined, his forearm against hers; she held tight to him, fearing that the three goons would separate them.

They were led into a room and the door whisked itself shut between them and the pinkish-blue brutes who had led them here. Only then did they release their grip on each other.  Sara sighed deeply, and asked, “Now what?” The Doctor didn’t respond. He had his sonic out and was working the perimeter of the room. “Doctor, what are we going to _do?_ ” She asked, her voice cracking. She had tears in her eyes, and all she could think about were the escape pods leaving Fentiern, and the warmth of the Gaffel’s mind pressing against hers. She thought of it in flames, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “What do they even _want?”_ She said loudly, desperately. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms, “Why are they doing this?”

“The usual; resources, real estate.” The Doctor said, not acknowledging her emotional state. He was still combing over the slimy walls with his sonic. “If I can find a weak point in the wall, we may just be able to get out of here.”

“What are they going to do with us?”

“Sell us on the slave market, I suspect. Hendica don’t take kindly to trespassers; they’re a very territorial lot. Quite xenophobic; if we weren’t such fine specimens—“

Just then, the door slid open and two brutish figures entered. Were they the same as the ones before? Sara couldn’t tell. “Your craft has been impounded. You will receive no audience with the captain. Our orders are to relocate you to the export bay.” They entered, one seizing the Doctor as he tried to reason with them, still playing the role of the lost tourist.

“Oh come now!” He said, “All this isn’t necessary, is it? We just got a bit lost, no ill intent here,” but it wasn’t working. He squirmed in the first soldier’s grasp as second seized Sara, who immediately began to struggle against her alien captor. The Doctor could only watch as Sara’s mind seemed to overload; her eyes grew wide and projected a flurry of untold thoughts awash in terror. She was losing control.  “Sara! It’s okay. It will be okay.” He squirmed against the hold of the large Hendica who clutched his arms in his fists, pulling the Doctor’s arms behind his back. But when the soldier clutching Sara retaliated by twisting her arm and pushing her toward the wall, there was no reasoning with her; Sara’s tenuous control unraveled and she succumbed to the waves of terror that flooded into her in electric waves.  Adrenaline flooded her system, and the whispers of the forest poured into her head. _I have to get out. Out. Out. OUT,_ her mind screamed.

The Doctor was stunned by the explosive reaction unfolding before him; Sara kicked into the fleshy pink-blue wall with her left leg. It gave a thick thud, but didn’t break through as she hoped it would; the wall only seemed to bristle. The massive guard moved to sure up his hold, and she slipped free, sinking her fingers into the fleshy wall like claws. This time the Hendica guard seized her around the waist and tugged. By the sheer force of her own terror she managed to cling in place. Now the guards were shouting, both at her and each other.

“Execute her!”

“Executions are prohibited outside the execution bay!”

“Let go!”

“Assistance requested in Containment Bay Nine!”

The Doctor, still restrained by the third alien soldier, was shouting, trying to reason with the panicked girl, “Sara! Sara _listen to me!”_ He tried desperately to get her attention. “Let me go,” he yelled at the soldier, “I can help!” but the soldier paid him no mind and tightened his grip.

Sara didn’t hear the commotion in the room over the din in her mind. Their shouting was gone, instead replaced by the howling of wind. She knew what this sound was; it was the weeping of the Gaffel forests of Fentiern, every elder and every sapling wailing in unison in her mind. She was only vaguely aware now of another figure entering the room. This new figure shouted something at the one holding her, and the next she knew, she was pressed entirely into the wet clammy wall of flesh.

Sara was someplace else; she was in a forest, speaking to the trees, only distantly aware of that fleshy, square room. She didn’t struggle as the Hendica guard forced her face into the spongy wall, nor did she recoil in disgust her clothes soaked through with the thick mucus that coated it. It was in her nose; in her eyes. Its bitter taste filled her mouth, and still she didn’t struggle.

The Doctor looked on, helpless and horrified as Sara went limp. “Let her go! Let her go she can’t breathe!” he shouted. “She’s worth at least one hundred thirty credits, but she won’t be worth a single one if you don’t allow her some air!”

Sara stood in the forest, by a sparkling river, watching the leaves blow carelessly from the branches of bushes on the opposite bank. They were whispering secrets to her; secrets forbidden to outsiders. The leaves landed in the water and began to drift downstream. Suddenly, as if an explosion had gone off, a wailing din exploded around her, the noise louder than it had ever been; deafening. She could no longer make sense of the thoughts projected into her mind. This time, however…there were words. She could feel words pressing on her mind; words of a different texture and sensation, not the nudging suggestions she’d been experiencing. Sara came to herself, suffocating against the slimy wall. From deep within, she called up all the fury of the forest, and clenching her fists once more into the wall, pushed her face free, and gave the loudest, longest scream she could manage. The aliens recoiled at the sound, and the Doctor looked awestruck, stilling in the soldiers grip.

He saw the silver lines running in rivulets across Sara’s skin bulge, raise up and shine. They were iridescent, standing out on her the way they had on the leaf when it still hung from the tree. Finally, in a desperate attempt to silence her, the guard that had smothered her cracked the butt of his weapon across her head.

“Sara!” The Doctor struggled again; watching helplessly as the guard easily pulled her now-limp hands free from the wall, and slung her unconscious body over his shoulder.

“You will not delay us further,” the Hendica holding him ordered. The Doctor bit back his anger, and allowed himself to be led toward the export bay. He stole a quick look at Sara’s motionless body draped over the shoulder of the Hendica soldier. He could see that she was breathing, but winced at the blood that ran down the side of her face. The guilt rolled over him again, cold waves of shame and self-loathing. What could he do? He’d seen the fibers of space and time coming together; this _had_ to happen. She had to come here, with him, to this planet, this day, this time. Yet the outcome was still uncertain. He pushed his Time Lord brain to its limits trying to discover the answer time had hidden away, but to no avail.

**

When Sara came to fifteen minutes later, she was lying on the floor. Her arms ached with exertion and her head was pounding. When she reached to cradle it, she felt the tackiness of the partially-dried blood on her face and in her hair. Thankfully, the lights were low. She felt a hand in hers and turned to see the Doctor gazing down at her.

“What happened?”

“You got a knock on the head,” he said; his voice low and unintentionally soothing. She squeezed his hand reflexively, and the memory came back to her. She realized she’d been overwhelmed; that whatever this resonance was, it was changing her. She was scared. Sara pushed away her fear and spoke.

“Gave ‘em a run for their money, didn’t I?” She said, forcing a smile.

“Yes you did.” He grinned, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Why are all the lights down?”

“The ship seems to be experiencing technical problems,” he said, “Multiple system malfunction. Judging by the communiqués I intercepted,” he said, waving his sonic screwdriver proudly between his fingers, “it started with this ship and is now affecting the entire Hendica fleet.” He grinned mischievously, “I wonder how _that_ could’ve happened.” It was then that Sara’s eyes fell upon the vent in the wall behind him; it’s cover stood askew and wiring hung haphazardly in the maw of the shaft. She chuckled.

“What did you do?”

Sara shifted her position on the floor and tried to sit up. When she brought herself half upright, she collapsed at the pounding in her head. She clutched it and gave a groan. “Don’t move,” he instructed. He took off his tie and began blotting at the streaks of blood at her temple. He silently cursed himself for not attending to it sooner.

“I saw the forest,” she said, forgetting her question, “I heard the Gaffel screaming.” She wanted to tell him what happened, but how? How could she explain it? There weren’t words. How do you translate pure thought?

“Well, they’re bound to be alright for now,” he said softly, and now Sara could see the sorrow there, so potent in his brown eyes, “The ships’ weapons systems are down.” Tears came to her eyes. She reached up and touched his cheek. His freckled skin was soft under her touch, and she could feel the hairs of his sideburn against her fingers.

“I know why the systems aren’t working,” she smiled. It would’ve been coy and mischievous had she not been so worn. The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” It was not an utterance of disbelief; he could tell by the shine in her eyes that she _knew._

“The ship—all these ships—aren’t just alive,” she let out a sigh at the throbbing of her head. “They’re smart; they think. They _feel,”_ she said, putting her hand on his cheek again. She shut her eyes, dazed. “They’re all connected,” she whispered, “Like the Gaffel.”

She took both of her hands and covered her face, rubbing her eyes and squishing her features beneath them. She let out a deep sigh, and when she withdrew her hands, she looked much more like her usual self. Sara sat up fully this time, still wincing at the pain in her head, now confined to where she’d actually taken the blow. 

“Certainly,” he said flatly. He’d realized that after her outburst in the holding cell. “But how exactly do _you_ know that?”

“I don’t know.” She lied. The sounds she’d heard while clinging to the wall in the holding cell hadn’t been just the sounds of the Gaffel forests.

The Doctor stood and offered her his hands, which she gladly took, and helped her to her feet. She was a bit unsteady and fell forward into him for a brief moment. In that moment, her hands still in his, his scent filled her nostrils. He smelled like a crisp summer on the shore of Lake Michigan; specifically the smell of the water dragged in by the wind. Her eyes felly shut as she savored it, and as soon as her eyes were closed, she felt the sensation of electric sand shooting into her as it had earlier. _Shame. Sadness. Loneliness_. She reeled backward, stumbled, and fell to her hands and knees. The feelings were unbearable. She wretched violently, leaving what was left of her dinner in a soupy pile on the floor.

It had all happened so quickly that The Doctor didn’t have time to read the borrowed emotions in her face.  He immediately reached to help her stand again, taking her under the arm. She tensed, afraid she’d be swept away again. Nothing happened at his touch this time. Maybe it needed to be skin-to-skin contact? She thought about the days events. That had to be it. Again, the Doctor seemed completely unaware that she’d drawn something out of him. The emotions were overwhelming and still kicked around inside her like an angry bull. She began to sob under the crushing weight of it.

Now the Doctor knew something was amiss. “What’s going on?”

“So much sadness,” she choked, “The Gaffel,” she lied. “Let’s get out of here.” The Doctor sensed her fallacy, but said nothing. The cogs in his brain were clicking into place; he was fitting all of his disparate observations together.

“I’ve tried several times to unlock the doors, but without much luck,” he said. “Perhaps you should try reasoning with it,” he motioned to the door, “give it a little touch.”

Sara was confused, but she held out her hand and moved toward the wall next to the door. She suddenly felt very afraid, and she reached blindly behind her for the Doctor. He slipped his hand into hers, and the feeling of his palm on hers gave her the last breath of courage she needed. She pressed her free hand into the slick wall. “How do I…”

“Just concentrate,” he urged her. She closed her eyes and focused. She was focusing hard on the wall as it pulsated beneath her fingers.

“The Hendica fighting to take back control,” she said, “The whole fleet is going to self-destruct.” She pulled her hand back for a moment in shock before replacing it. The ships were aware, and now they were willing to die rather than be instruments of genocide. Tears streamed down her face, and in her mind she asked for the door to be unlocked, and when she opened her eyes again, the door was sliding open.

 _She’s a telepathic receiver,_ the Doctor thought. _Of course the Gaffel would have an Ace up their sleeve._

“We need to get to the TARDIS. If we make it in time,” he said, hustling out the door with Sara in tow, moving down the corridor quickly, “I may be able to save the fleet.”

There were sounds coming from behind them. The sounds of angry armed guards drifting down the corridor after them. “The saboteurs have escaped!” she heard one shout.

She and the Doctor ran through twists and turns in the halls of the ship; he seemed to know exactly where to find the TARDIS, and she wondered if its psychic link was responsible. The footfalls of the Hendica military men—creatures—were closing on them. The two reached a locked door behind which the TARDIS was located. She pressed her palm again to the flesh of the ship, and tried hard to focus. She was flustered, her mind racing. She begged the ship silently, _Open open open please open._

Just as the door slid on its track to grant them entry, they came under fire. Some of the troops had laser weapons, others bullets, but what caught Sara in the side just as she slipped across the threshold was some sort of projectile broad knife. She squawked as it tore into her, and she collapsed. The door slid shut behind them. She couldn’t see straight, the pain was excruciating; she could feel the blood, and when she looked down and saw the blade protruding from her torso, she looked up at the Doctor, bewildered.

“Doctor?” She fainted.

  
  


[Chapter 1](http://whosintheattic.livejournal.com/1096.html)     [Chapter 2](http://whosintheattic.livejournal.com/1377.html)     **Chapter 3**      [Chapter 4](http://whosintheattic.livejournal.com/1844.html)  



	4. The Light of the Moons

The Doctor was carrying Sara in his arms, where she hung limply and half-conscious. He pushed away the thought of the helpless look she’d given him before blacking out. The way her voice cracked when she’d said, “Doctor?” and the puzzled look that spread across her face; those cold familiar waves of his conscience crashed over him again. _Shame. Guilt._ In and out, a tide of anguish, telling him he deserved to be alone after all he’d done.

He looked down at her periodically as he ran past dozens of shelves to the back of the warehouse where he knew he would find the TARDIS. The Gaffel leaf was still bonded to Sara’s skin, the blue-green making the ragged wound in her abdomen look slightly less severe. Blood was seeping out with every thump of her heart. He’d had to pull the Hendica spearhead out; he’d noticed straightaway it had a timer, and no sooner had he withdrawn it from her side than its mechanism activated, more than doubling its size. So now she very well could bleed to death. All because she _had_ to be here. All because she’d met _him._ Had he foreseen this series of events, Laws of Time be _damned_ ; he never would’ve brought her along. Her shirt was soaked in blood, and stained his coat and blazer; it pocked her jeans. “Hold on, Sara!” He looked down at her face, her blue eyes open and wandering, not fixing on him or anything else.

Her head was swimming, and slowly, she was feeling colder. Her gut initially screamed and throbbed, as if someone had jabbed her with a hot poker. Now she was numb and dizzy, more aware—she was flying. No. The Doctor was carrying her. She could see the blur of his face, but couldn’t focus. She faintly felt the familiar tingle, like electric sand washing over her mind. _Red grass. Silver leaves. Guilt. An orange sky. Fear.  Fire. Longing._ The pain brought by the pounding of the Doctor’s footfalls was muffled by her own shock. She felt more like she was floating down a lazy stream, a leaf twirling in the cool whirlpools as the stream swells into a river, rushing faster…and it’s exhilarating and beautiful, but so cold.

“Sara!” the Doctor shouted. She was unconscious again. He had to set her down to fish the key from his trouser pocket and unlock the TARDIS. He heard the storage bay door slide open on its track, and knew that the foot soldiers were dangerously close. He stooped low and scooped Sara under her arms, and as quickly and carefully as possible, dragged her inside and shut the door. “Hang in there, Sara,” he strained as he pulled her up the catwalk and laid her next to the main console. He threw a few levers—they needed to get out _now_ —and sprinted down the corridor to the closet. He thrust the door open, and began searching; he furiously hurled things over his shoulder and against the wall, until after what seemed like an eternity, his eyes lit upon his goal. It was a small metallic cylinder.

“I’m coming, Sara!” The Doctor shouted as he hurried down the corridor; he was twisting the cap off as he skidded to a painful landing on his knees at her side. He tipped the open container over her wound, and gave a desperate smile as thousands of Chula nanogenes lit up and flooded into her system. He immediately pressed his fingers to her neck. He could feel her weak pulse, moving slowly. So slowly. He pursed his lips and looked down and away from her, silently hoping. Time crawled, but he felt her pulse slowly creep up, edging closer and closer to normal. He lifted her shirt just enough to inspect the wound. The smile on his face grew wider and wider as the wound shrank and disappeared, and Sara’s pulse grew stronger. The Doctor noticed the blue-green-silver of the Gaffel leaf was just as quickly turning into a brown-gray; the nanogenes had known it didn’t belong and so it was being extricated. 

He cupped her hand in both of his, ignoring the flakes of leaf that crumbled off her forearm. As Sara’s eyes fluttered open, and the nanogenes came out of her, hovering over her in a cloud of tiny lights, the Doctor used one hand to hold the cylinder up, encouraging the nanogenes to return. Sara only gasped as they swarmed into the can that The Doctor held. He recapped it. “What are those?” She asked. Her voice was solid, and she was alert.

“Chula nanogenes. Picked them up during the London Blitz; I was going to deactivate them, but thought better of it. Thought I’d hang onto them in case of an emergency.” Sara gave a start as she remembered; she clutched her belly, only to realize she was covered in a profuse amount of blood. There was no injury, much to her relief, and she looked hesitantly at the Doctor. His coat and jacket were stained with her blood, relief written in the faint lines of his face. His hair was disheveled, but still somehow looked perfect. Her expression must have been one of confusion, because he added, “Think of them as medics in a can.” She smiled at him, and she just couldn’t help herself—her smile was a broad ridiculous smile that would’ve been a dead giveaway for any human, betraying every inch of the conflicted feelings she’d been forcing herself to ignore—she sprang up and hugged him around the neck, head under his chin. It was platonic and natural, and she didn’t let herself think or care; just enjoyed the feel of him—enjoyed the ability to feel at all—and the smell of him. He encircled her in his arms and she breathed deeply. _Summer wind,_ she thought. After a moment, they broke their embrace and Sara stuffed those confusing feelings away again. She got to her feet.

“I never was a very good runner,” she said, silently chiding her poor athleticism. She looked down at herself, “It’s a shame, too,” she said, brushing leaf flecks from her arms, “I really loved this shirt.” She was a bit disappointed that she would no longer have the beautiful silken Gaffel leaf to call her own.

The Doctor chuckled at the ‘unpredictable’ girl—alive when by rights she should be dead—and with a sense of humor. As she shifted on her feet, she began to feel the discomfort of being covered in dry leaf and sticky with blood. Her hair was matted. Suddenly she felt as undignified as if she’d been honeyed and feathered. She was molting leaf particles with every movement, and it made her itch all over. “I am in desperate need of a shower,” she said. Then a look of concern crossed her face that was hauntingly similar to the one she’d worn just after being shot, “I don’t have anything to put on.”

“I’ll take care of that,” he assured her. “You just wash up.” She didn’t move for a moment. “Well go on then,” he gestured, “Towels are in the cupboard,” and he darted to the control panel. She looked down at his stained garments, and since his back was turned, she scooped them up and took them with her.

The Doctor plucked his re-breather from his throat and began working furiously at the controls, programming a computer virus and beaming it into the mainframe of the Hendica fleet. The virus would eat through the Hendica control systems and allow the ships their freedom. He tried not to think of what that meant for the passengers of the living ships. They would probably be ejected into the vacuum of space. The virus would also transmit a message concerning the incidents on Fentiern to the Shadow Proclamation; the Hendica ships would need aid and protection, and so would the Gaffel.

**

Sara stepped into the empty bathtub after gingerly peeling her re-breather off and setting it on the sink. She shucked off her garments one at a time. Every article was completely marred by blood, and her t-shirt had a gaping hole in it. She figured that the blade had pierced her liver and possibly her kidney, based on the looks of her shirt and where she remembered feeling pain. She shuddered and dropped her tattered clothing into the wastebasket, then pulled the curtain shut.

Once the hot water was flowing over her, she felt more like herself. The flecks of Gaffel leaf had been scrubbed off; some of them dancing around the drain. As Sara looked down at them, she began to weep, and then sob. She lingered under the jets long after she’d gotten clean, allowing them to run over her body in consolation.

 _I could’ve died tonight._ She allowed herself to stand under the water until she cried all she could cry. It seemed like an eternity, but the hot water never did run out. She shut off the tap, and dried herself carefully before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, tucking it just above her breasts. Just then, she heard a soft knock at the door, “Sara, I found some clothes for you. I’ll just leave them—” she opened the door.

The Doctor’s eyes darted across her bare skin before looking away. “I see you got the leaf off, then,” he said, offering her a small cluster of shopping bags, “Here,” he smiled, “I hope I did alright; had to guess on the sizes.”

“Thank you,” she smiled shyly, taking the bags. One of them was particularly weighty.

“I’m going to start tea shortly,” he said.

“I’ll be there.” She shut the door softly and piled the bags onto the sink. She emptied them one at a time, putting the articles on; a pair of blue skinny jeans (nearly identical to the ones she’d been wearing), a plain white t-shirt, a bra that was—she blushed—exactly the right size, socks, underwear, and a pair of navy blue Converse. She smiled, clean and dressed, and withdrew the contents of the last bag; a black leather jacket. She shouldered it on and it fit like a dream. It hung to the backs of her thighs and flattered her figure. She turned a bit, this time looking in the mirror on the back of the door. She tucked her hands into the pockets and admired the coattails.

If the shower had made her feel like herself again, then this jacket made her feel better than herself. It was like a suit of armor; she couldn’t help but think of The Matrix. She felt her self-confidence inflate like a party balloon. When she opened the door, the smell of a hot meal filled her nostrils. “Doctor?” she called, as she moved down the corridor and re-entered the control room. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger. What time was it at home? How long as it been since she left? She looked down at her watch, but it wasn’t working.

“This way!” his voice echoed from another corridor. She followed the sound of his voice and the smell of a hot meal. As soon as she laid eyes on the spread of the dinner table, she gasped. The round table was draped with a white cloth and set for two. Sara looked at the place settings, feeling more than a little intimidated. She looked at the three forks to the left side of the plate. “Have a seat,” he offered, pulling out her chair. She settled into it, trying to ignore the way his knuckles brushed against her shoulder blades as he moved the chair back into place. “I know, it’s all a bit much for fish and chips,” he said, flitting toward the counter, “But this is a celebration!” He glided toward her again, clutching a bottle in his fist. “Wine?” he offered.

“Sure.” he spun on his foot and snatched up a corkscrew before whirling back and plopping the bottle down on the dining table. He made a less-than-elegant show of getting the cork out of the bottle before pouring them each a glass. Again he flitted back to the counter. It almost made her dizzy; he was like a ping-pong ball—here, there, here, there—but she liked it. His frenetic movements were somehow soothing; they allowed her to let the terror she’d felt previously fade to the background. She silently wondered if they did the same for him.

“What sauce do you like on your chips?” He asked, a dinner basket in either hand. The Doctor placed one in front of her and the other in his place, and turned again to the fridge.

“Ketchup,” she said. He bent down into the open maw of the refrigerator to retrieve the plastic squeeze bottle, and Sara caught herself again staring at his backside. She looked away guiltily and stuffed a fry into her mouth.

“There you are; catsup!” he said, his lips bending around the repeated word differently than hers had. He plopped the bottle down before her, “Perfect for chips.”

“Chips,” she tried the word as she upended the bottle and applied the contents next to her fries. “I think I’m going to call them that from now on,” she said, dipping a French fry and pointing its end at him before stuffing it into her mouth, “It sounds cool.”

“May I propose a toast?” Sara nodded and took up her glass of wine. “To friendship,” he said, “to life and chips.”

“And to the Gaffel,” Sara added. The Doctor nodded and they clicked their glasses together. She took a gulp of her wine. “I’m going to use this tiny fork,” she laughed, “pretend I’m a giant,” she poked at the fish on her plate and began to eat. The Doctor laughed.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, copying her. After a few minutes, she asked, “So what’s going to happen to Fentiern? And the Gaffel?”

“The Hendica commanders will be arrested, if their own ships haven’t killed them. The ships will be protected by Galactic law in any case, and patrols in the Fendel system will likely be increased.”

“Business as usual?” she said. The whole thing was procedural and mundane, but on such a grand scale that it fascinated Sara. He only nodded. “And the moon…?” Her question trailed off and her face held a searching expression. She knew there was something important about Tieramenaat, and wanted to ask him about it, but she couldn’t think of what exactly to ask. The thought sat on the tip of her tongue and taunted her. The Doctor could see her confusion turning to frustration as she tried to sort out the fragments of thought in her mind.

“Beneath the surface of Tieramenaat lies a very powerful and valuable compound. The Hendica meant to exploit that by strip-mining the moon. Fentiern’s sunlight, reflected from the surface of Tieramenaat—the surface they were so ready to decimate—allows for the production of the sugars that feed a Gaffel trees’ immune system.  Few do; it’s a well-guarded secret. One I happened to steal from the Hendica mainframe while I was…improving the system.”

“That’s amazing!” she grinned, finally able to make sense of her fragmented memories on the subject.

“Quite. Just a couple million years of artificially-accelerated evolution; nothing fancy, really,” he shrugged, taking a bite of fish. “If you think that’s impressive,” he grinned, “remind me to tell you about the time I encountered a living sun.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Sara’s eyes grew wide, and he relished the surprised look that showed on her face through the mouthful of fish and chips. “Cool,” she mumbled through her meal, holding a hand in front of her mouth.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” for a moment, Sara saw a hard look cross his face. He seemed to be staring through her; remembering. Then the look was gone and his bright smile returned, not quite reaching his eyes. She could tell that he wished he hadn’t brought it up.

“I once found an arrowhead when I was rock-climbing in Alabama,” she offered weakly, deliberately changing the subject. The Doctor relaxed his posture and the smile crept into his eyes again. “I was fourteen.”

“That must have been very exciting.”

“It was; I felt like an archeologist,” Sara beamed, “Like Indiana Jones.”

“One problem with that,” the Doctor said, sipping his wine.

“What?”

“You’re a time traveler now; we point and laugh at archeologists,” they both laughed.

The rest of their meal was all laughs, and afterward, as Sara and The Doctor finished the wine and tidied the kitchen, he said, “I can take you home when you’re ready,” he said hesitantly, not looking at her.

The thought of home crept into her mind; the quiet little place she’d left that morning seemed so far away; not just in space and time, but for her personally. Her mom’s cooking, her homework, her upcoming geography exam…they all seemed so distant. So small. So _unimportant._ Home; the place where nothing happens. Not tomorrow, not the next day. Nor the day after that. But today, something _did_ happen, and her whole world changed. The thought of going back to that old life filled her with anxiety. The Doctor noticed her long silence and gave her a sideways look as she fidgeted with the clean plates. He knew she didn’t want to go home, which was nice, because he didn’t really want her to go either. He added, “You could see your mum, and pick up some comforts. For another trip...” He arched an eyebrow and looked at her sideways as she turned to look at him. “…if you want.”

Sara’s head began to swim immediately. She could feel the two hemispheres of her brain dueling in her skull. _You almost died; you need to go home. But what’s at home? You have your whole life ahead of you. A life of what? Exams? Nine to five?_ Her mind boiled; the pros and cons rolling in on each other. _It’s dangerous._ “Is it always…?” She started.

“Dangerous? Yes. It can be, though not every trip is so…eventful.” That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask. She’d meant to ask if it was always so beautiful. She wanted to ask if she would feel that feeling again; the feeling she felt when she looked up at the moons of Fentiern and wept. Because no matter how terrified she was, or how close to death she was, what she felt in those minutes they stood hand-in-hand in the moonlight was all she wanted to feel for the rest of her life.

“Then yes,” she replied, jutting her chin just a bit and giving him her biggest smile. Her stomach was doing back-flips. _What did I just agree to?_ She thought. 

“Well, we’ll get a good night’s sleep and then tomorrow we can pop back to yesterday afternoon. If you go home now, your mother will wonder; you look terrible.” Sara made a face. He’d been rude without realizing it.

“Sorry. I mean you look tired. A lot more tired than you should be for attending a few lectures.”

“Yeah, sure.” she said, feigning offense and wearing a smirk.

That night, she awoke from a nightmare. Not of her imminent death, but of the sadness and longing. Now that she was awake, all she could recall were flashes. _Red grass. Guilt. Orange sky. Shame. Silver leaves. Loneliness._ The beautiful images swirled with pain and loss…what did they mean? She couldn’t get back to sleep, so she just stared at the ceiling and after awhile, began to cry. She cried for the unfathomable grief of her new friend, and she cried for herself. She cried for the feeling that she had forgotten something very important; _why_ was the Doctor so lonely? So _sad_? She’d caught just a flash of it, but just like the secret of the Fentiernian moon, it had slipped away from her. She cried all the tears she had left and was spent. She became restless, tossing and turning until finally she couldn’t bear it anymore.

Sara got out of bed and crept back to the bathroom where she’d showered earlier, and took out the Doctor’s blood-streaked coat and blazer. The deep red splotches were still wet, and so she turned on the cold tap in the tub. Sara spent the next 90 minutes meticulously scrubbing her blood out of his clothing, paying special attention to the lapels and being sure to get under the buttons. She scrubbed as if erasing the blood from the fabric would erase the memories from her mind. She held each up to the scrutiny of the vanity lights, and after two or three attempts, she was quite pleased with the results. She draped the wet garments over her arm and slunk back to the bedroom. She opened the closet at the far side and hung the coat and blazer on hangers to dry, admiring her handiwork. A little hand soap and elbow grease, and both pieces were as good as new. The satisfaction that came with her success was enough to still her nerves, and she was finally able to crawl back into bed, and settle under the covers. She was quite happy with herself and resolved to present the cleaned garments to him in the morning. As she imagined the pleased look on his face, she fell asleep.

**

“I have a surprise for you,” she said the next morning, entering the control room. She had his coat and blazer tucked behind her back. The two of them both knew they were plainly visible, but The Doctor played along.

“Oh! Is it a horse? I like horses. I had a horse once—borrowed him actually—Arthur, I called him.”

Sara grinned, “No, not a horse,” she paused for the dramatic reveal. “Ta-da!” She said, pulling the two pieces of clothing from behind her back. The Doctor was thrilled.

“My coat!” he said, rushing over. He quickly shrugged his blazer on, then snatched his coat off the hanger and threw it on. “I love this coat; Janis Joplin gave me this coat,” he ran his hands over the front and gripped the lapels in between his fingers and thumbs.

“You can’t even tell it had blood on it,” she said, “My mom always told me to use cold water—not hot water—to get blood out.”

“Thank you,” he said, catching her by surprise in a hug. Her face was against his chest now, and his smell filled her nostrils. He was the wind coming off Lake Michigan in August. He was lilacs. He was dry autumn leaves. She hugged him back awkwardly, arms with no place to go but around his middle, as his embrace had her upper arms pinned to her sides. That part of her; the _noticing_ part rejoiced in the closeness and savored the feel of her palms against his Oxford and his body beneath it; enjoyed the feel of the satin lining of his blazer against the backs of her hands. Sara’s other part—the rational part—resisted the urge to clutch at his shirt and pull him even closer.

The Doctor knew she’d done this in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t sleep. He’d heard her moving in the hall in the wee hours, while he was reading. He felt a pang of guilt. The thought of her reliving her near-death in her sleep at night made his hearts ache. How much more would she endure because of him? How miserable he is, knowing the harm he’s doing to her—as he had all his companions—in bringing her on this journey. But he just couldn’t bear to be alone. And all the sights of the universe just weren’t the same without someone to share it with.

“Well then, let’s get to your mum’s.” He said, pulling away.

**

The Doctor and Sara arrived at the little house she shared with her mother Janet. Janet was still at work, and would be for another hour and a half. Sara hadn’t wanted to explain the Doctor to her mother. She didn’t want to lie about how she’d spent the last twenty-four hours—well, for her mother it had been less than two—all she wanted was to grab an overnight bag and leave a note so her mother wouldn’t worry.

I’m going to run upstairs and pack a bag real quick,” Sara said. “You can help yourself to the fridge,” she offered. She scurried up the steps and to her bedroom at the end of the hall. She stuffed a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts into her duffel bag, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear, and some hair ties from her dresser. She crossed the hall into the bathroom and retrieved her toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush.

As Sara crossed the hall with the items, she saw the Doctor approaching. “Nothing good in the fridge, huh?” She smiled. Her mom had been on a bit of a health food jaunt the last few weeks, stocking the fridge with organic fruit, free range eggs, and tofu.

“Not a thing,” he said, “Except this,” he held up a banana. She smiled.

“My favorite,” she said.

“Mine too.”

Sara re-entered her bedroom and the Doctor followed, peeling the banana. She was a bit uncomfortable having him in her room; it was cluttered. There were papers strewn about her desk, many of which were covered in doodles, there was a bit of dirty laundry on the floor, her bed was unmade, and an ancient stuffed teddy bear lay on the pillow. She quickly stuffed the bear into her travel bag; he smiled and pretended he didn’t notice. “This is nice,” he said taking a bite of banana and eyeing the posters she’d pinned to her wall. She had dozens of posters of various sizes, most of which were of nebulas and planets, or old buildings. A large poster of St. Basil’s Cathedral hung above her desk, and over her bed was a picture of a nebula.

“Thanks,” she said, “Mom always tells me I should take them down. She says I’m too old for posters; I should hang up framed pictures.”

“Well that’s just silly.”

Sara grinned and zipped up her bag. She went over to her desk and took out a pen and pad. She wrote, “ _Mom—I’m going to stay with Sandy tonight. I might be gone a couple days; I have my bus pass, so don’t worry about that. I love you. See you soon, Sara.”_ She looked at her penmanship and nodded. “There. All done.”

The Doctor seemed dubious that a note would be enough to satisfy her mother, but she really didn’t want to go into her mother’s aloof attitude, or how she’d gotten that way. Sara pushed away the guilt that bubbled to the surface at that thought.

**

The two were nearly back to the TARDIS, walking in silence and enjoying the afternoon air. Sara felt the excitement swelling inside her; the future! She was going to _see_ the _future!_ She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. Her excitement was tinged with fear, that same fear she always got while waiting in line to ride a roller coaster; it built in her gut with every step she took toward the TARDIS in the same way as it built as she neared the front of the queue. Now she was standing next to the Doctor, the key to his blue box in hand, and she was trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asked, frowning.

“Yeah…yes, but…”

“What?”

“Would you promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

“If I get lost, or something happens to me, I want you to tell my mom I’m dead. Even if I’m really not. I don’t want her to wonder about me and where I’ve gone to, so I want you to promise that—if you can—you’ll do that. You’ll tell her somehow.”

The Doctor stopped and looked very serious. He read the expression on Sara’s face; it was one of determination, not fear. Just then, he thought maybe he should send her home. _Never mind the future,_ he imagined himself saying, _Go home to your mother, stay in university. Become a sociologist._ But he could see in her eyes that she couldn’t accept that—wouldn’t accept that—and it made him smile. The breadth and depth of insatiable human curiosity was their greatest asset, and the cobblestones that paved their way to ruin. “I promise,” he said at last, stepping into the TARDIS. He hoped that day would never come. Sara followed, and shortly after the door closed behind her, the TARDIS no longer stood on a street corner in America; it was soaring through the time vortex, taking the two of them on their next adventure.


End file.
